


No Regrets

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Series: New Targaryen Dynasty [6]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Fluff, R plus L equals J, Romance, basically just filler, obvs, pre-wedding, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: As they both adjust to their new roles as royalty (and royalty to be) and prepare for their upcoming wedding, Dany wants to make sure Jon doesn't feel pressured to take the crown or marry because of convenience. Can be read before or after Eight Times, it doesn't matter. Pre-wedding fluff





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So I managed to get another one in this week-it was originally going to include the wedding (!) but I figured that would be better in its own separate oneshot so expect that next. Eventually this is going to be a proper series, I just need to think of a name for it first. 
> 
> READ THIS PLEASE:  
> This one is shameless fluff-more filler than anything else and just something that I thought of when I was writing the wedding (which will, again, come next). Expect it to be a lot longer than this one. All the fics I read portray their marriage as political only, which I can totally see (and I'd love to write an AU like that at some point) but in the fanfic I wrote that I'm basing this off they met a lot earlier on in the series. I started it after season 5 and in my story they meet just after the Battle for Winterfell, Sansa becomes Lady of Winterfell (because she honestly needs her throne/chair thing) and they get to know each other for a long while and become very close before the Battle of the Dawn. I wanted to justify why they would marry not just politically but also for love and I hope I did so reasonably well...and I just love writing Jonerys banter anyway. 
> 
> I know that probably sounds confusing but I promise I'll either write up a doc explaining the original fanfic or post a full summary on tumblr or something-I'll keep you posted!
> 
> I suppose I should add that I don't own Game of Thrones or any of its characters, but you already know that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was no real proposal. 

Jon thought there should be, because it was only right that he should ask for her hand in marriage-that was how Lord Stark had done it, and a dozen lords and kings of the North going as far back as the histories did. He supposed the Targaryens had done that too, although he was far less well versed in the customs of his father’s family. But Tyrion insisted there wasn’t time; the royal wedding would have to be planned immediately because it would take months to get everything in order. So the only witnesses to their mutual marriage agreement were a few members of the Queensguard, and Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

However, he didn’t have long to worry about it before the wedding preparations kicked in full swing. 

He’d seen weddings, of course; growing up, his uncle had always made it a point to preside over the wedding ceremonies of his servants and every so often Jon would have to come. They were usually quick; performed under Winterfell’s heart tree and followed by a loud, bawdy banquet with barely enough meat to feed all of the men and dogs that crowded into Winterfell’s Great Hall. However, a royal wedding seemed to be a horse of another color-and there was still the coronation, which would apparently be an even bigger affair. It couldn’t be planned in a week or two and every detail had to be meticulously planned out-the outfits, the food, the flowers, even the seating arrangements. The guest list was written for him; he barely knew half of the people who were coming because Dany’s advisors (he still had a hard time thinking of them as his, too) insisted that they had to come for various political reasons. 

After the first week of planning, he realized that his parents had done the right thing by eloping-planning a royal wedding was enough to drive him completely mad. 

“...we can import peacocks from the Jade Sea if need be,” Tyrion was saying when he tuned back in. He assumed they were still talking about the menu, as they had been for the last hour and a half. 

Dany looked about as excited about the prospect as he did. “Peacocks.” 

“They’re actually delicious, when cooked properly. And more to the point, people will expect us to have it at a royal wedding-it will look odd if we don’t. Especially in these first critical days, it’s very important that we play to the nobles’ expectations.” 

“I see.” She didn’t sound convinced. 

“And of course, we’ll be incorporating in the Meereenese meat and wine. It should be arriving any day now.” 

“How much is this all going to cost?” Jon wondered aloud. It couldn’t be cheap, and the treasury was already depleted as it was; he’d had to talk Tyrion down from thirty courses to twenty five (a perfectly respectable number, apparently, although he still thought it was a colassal waste of food) but he wasn’t sure that it made a difference. 

“I’ll handle that,” Tyrion replied. “Someone at the Iron Bank owes me a favor.” He scribbled something down on the sheet of paper in front of him. “What about the desserts? Have you tried the cakes yet?” 

“We’re still working on it.” Seven pieces of cake had been delivered the day before from seven family owned bakeries and Jon was hesitant to turn any of them down. 

“The sooner I know the better-the timing won’t be an issue, but it’s better to provide ample time for something so important.” Tyrion glanced between the two of them and sighed. “Why don’t we try again later? I can see that I lost Jon a long time ago and I’m close to losing you as well.” 

Dany looked genuinely regretful. “I appreciate all of the effort you’ve put in-we both do-”

“But it can get tedious after a while. I know. Take an hour or so and then we’ll make the final decisions.” Tyrion went to the door, leaving a sheaf of papers open in front of them. “But remember that the Tyrells arrive tomorrow and will need accommodations-”

“Lady Margaery and her grandmother can stay in the Red Keep and we’ll outfit their ministers and soldiers in the least seediest inn within six blocks.”

“Very good, your Grace.” The door clicked shut and Jon felt himself almost palpably release a breath. 

Dany glanced at him, eyebrows raised, as she slid the papers across the desk towards her. “Are you all right?” There was real concern in her voice. 

He shook his head. “Ah, yes. It’s just a bit...overwhelming. I didn’t expect I would ever get married and I certainly never expected this much...grandeur.”

She nodded, and he suddenly remembered that this wasn’t her first wedding-or even her second. “It’s for the nobles and the smallfolk more than for us-they need some happiness after the Battle killed so many of them.” Which was exactly his point; there was something inherently wrong with the most important occasion of his life being pure entertainment for others. But then again, so much about his life had suddenly become new to him; he supposed nothing should really surprise him anymore. “Although I don’t think it will be as exciting as a Dothraki wedding.”

He laughed, while at the same time being glad the members of her khalasar had dispersed back to the Dothraki Sea because only a couple of weeks spent with the horselords had been almost too much to handle. “Weddings seem to be a dangerous affair in Westeros.” He tried not to think about Robb, murdered at a wedding-though luckily not his own. “Although you’ve already survived two.” 

She sighed, playing with the corners of a few sheets of paper. “It’s an inconvenience, yes, but...we can’t let ourselves forget the real meaning of the ceremony, can we? Bringing stability to Westeros, yes, but also beginning a new future. Together.” 

It broke over him like a wave of sanity in an ocean of insanity-this marriage was for them just as much as it was for all of the hedge knights who would crowd into the Red Keep demanding handouts. He didn’t believe in happily ever afters, not when everything he’d ever seen had taught him the opposite, but after years of strife he wondered if the gods might just let up on him a little bit and allow him this happiness-however long it lasted. 

She hadn’t forced him to marry him to solidify her claim. He hadn’t come South because he thought he’d be a good ruler (he was still terrified of wearing a crown and the responsibilities that came with it). They may have met for salvation, but they were marrying for love. And he couldn’t forget that, even for a second. 

He took her hand, feeling how soft her skin was-like the petals of a flower. “Together. Although I wonder if we should confess our sins to the High Septon…”

"All of them?” She arched an eyebrow. “Should we tell him that we lay together before the marriage bed?” 

“We had a very good excuse.” 

She closed the gap between them, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his mouth, fingers deftly playing with the edge of his collar-and then pulling back tantalizingly. “What the High Septon knows won’t hurt him.”

And for once, Jon was inclined to agree. 

.  
The castle was so crowded Dany was practically tripping over people. They crowded all of the rooms that weren’t her private quarters, drinking mulled wine, talking in loud voices, and laughing loudly. Black clad waiters passed through the room like shadows, bearing trays of h'orderves she couldn’t name but looked vaguely Eastern. And for once she felt lost in the middle of it, not because of the speech she would have to give to commemorate the Battle of King’s Landing and all of those killed, but because it was two nights before her wedding. 

She didn’t feel frightened, as she had her first time; or bored, as she had her second. As she looked around the room for Jon, finally catching him talking to Sansa in the corner, her heart jumped strangely and she had to turn away so no one would see the blush that colored her neck. She wasn’t a child anymore; she had outgrown childhood crushes. And yet, there was something about Jon that drew her to him-something more than the way his abs looked when they were wet or the way he handled a sword with such grace that it almost seemed a part of him. He was kind and confident, but almost timid on occasion-especially around the nobles. He had a good heart and he was rational, and when she imagined waking up with him the morning after her wedding day she didn’t imagine just the sexual pleasure but the way he would look with his hair mussed and her name on his lips. 

They would have a thousand mornings like that, if she had anything to say about it. 

“What are you thinking about?” She looked up to see that he wasn’t in the corner anymore; in fact, he was standing just slightly too close to be polite, holding a wineglass in his hand. Sansa was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did your sister go?” They were siblings in spirit; he never called them cousins so she didn’t either. 

He shrugged. “She wants to talk with Margaery. Apparently they’re good friends.”

“That’s lovely.” Life had dealt Sansa a foul hand and she deserved every happiness she could have, including friends who cared for her. In a way, she reminded Dany of herself-bent but never broken. 

He took another sip of his drink, although his voice hadn’t yet adopted a slur. “You didn't answer my question.” 

“Just about marriage.” Perhaps she didn’t deserve him and his kindness; the gods only knew she’d done things that she regretted-some with the right intentions, some not. “What it will be like when we’re married.” 

“I’ll let you handle the public audiences.” 

She laughed. “And what should your job be?”

“Tourneys. Commanding the City Watch. Organizing the library.”

“Really.”

“Perhaps not the library. Dust makes me sneeze.” 

Even as she smiled, she felt her fingers lace together worriedly. “I need you to be serious with me.”

His smile disappeared almost comically fast, and she realized he was more sober than she’d thought. Which would make this either better or worse, she couldn’t tell which. “What is it?”

“I know how you act around this world.” She gestured to indicate everyone in the room-the wine, the fancy dresses, the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, even the balmy evening breeze outside. “I know how uncomfortable you are and I know that this is never what you wanted in the first place. I don’t want you to feel forced to become a part of it because being in power changes you, whether or not you expect it, and...it doesn’t always change you for the better.” There were only four people besides them who knew about his parentage, and each of them would die before revealing their secret. If he chose to slip away now, no one would suspect anything; it might even be easier for him than what coming forward would inevitably mean. They'd decided not to hide his true parentage from the nobles, planning on revealing it a few weeks before his eventual coronation. They'd both learned from Cersei's mistakes; best not to keep big secrets. 

For a minute he just stared at her until she started feeling uncomfortable, wondering if she’d somehow upset him-and then finally he grabbed a wine bottle and a couple of glasses from a passing servant and gestured for her to follow him outside. He waved to someone across the room she briefly recognized as Arya and then she followed him out a side door and into the dark night. 

The city was lit by the lights of hundreds of lamps and the Blackwater stretched out before them, a graveyard for the wrecks of dozens of ships. As she took in the sight, watching the moonlight create patterns on the surface of the water, Jon opened the bottle and poured her a glass, sitting down on the stone floor. She sipped carefully while he poured one for himself, feeling the warm and fuzzy feeling in her gut as the alcohol worked its way through her system. 

She’d almost grown used to the silence when he spoke again. “When I was younger I never wanted to go South. My siblings always wanted to-Bran wanted to be a soldier in whatever army would take him, and of course Sansa fawned over princes from the Reach-but Winterfell was home. I was content to allow it be my world. And I assumed that would never change, even after we met. I went back to Winterfell with Sansa and I waited for the world to go back to normal again. I waited to feel at home-but I didn’t. The place I had wanted to get back to for so long suddenly felt too constraining. I was no longer satisfied with its walls and limitations-not when I’d seen the skyline of King’s Landing and the Wall, not when I’d battled the White Walkers and ridden dragons. The land remained the same, but I had changed. I wanted more. I wanted to see you again, and not twenty years from now when you were married and had children and I was forced to come from Winterfell to pay homage to you.

“And when I returned, when we met again...it felt like coming home. Not exactly, but close enough. Close enough to convince me that I had to at least give it a chance. So I could be with you and experience the world, even if it was ridiculous and inadvisable and I had no political experience whatsoever. I loved, and that shouldn’t have been enough.”

“But it was. I'm glad you came back when you did; otherwise I was going to come after you myself. It's best for the kingdom; you're much more levelheaded than most of the suitors I met with.” She suspected the alcohol; it was making them both feel bold. 

“And of course, I couldn’t leave Rhaegal behind.” 

She laughed. “He missed you. I think he was hurt you didn’t come with us in the first place.” 

“I hope I can make it up to him somehow. I never intended to hurt his feelings.” 

“I think that can be remedied. He’s not one to hold grudges.” 

He toyed with the rim of his glass; the moonlight sparkled off his mop of hair (he was desperately in need of a trim). “But love isn’t enough now that there’s a country to run and a thousand nobles to stay ahead of-”

“We can make our way. As long as we trust each other. The Walkers are gone; if we dealt with that, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Famous last words.” 

“There’s no point in being afraid of the future when there’s nothing we can do to change it.” 

“Men do it anyway.”

“Men are extremely tiresome.”

He pretended to look hurt. “You think I’m tiresome?”

“For you I could make an exception.” She poured herself more wine, registering vaguely that it was almost three quarters of the way empty. “I’d be concerned if you weren’t nervous. I’m nervous too, because I know nothing about this land or this people other than what I’ve read in the history books. It’s not about being scared, Lord Snow-it’s about how we respond to it.” She shook her head, practically feeling the wine racing through her veins. “I sound so much wiser when I’m drinking.”

“Maybe that’s why Tyrion does it so much.”

She almost spat out her drink onto the stone steps. “Who knew you had a sense of humor?” 

“Has to be the wine. We should drink more often.” 

They drifted off into a comfortable silence, watching the stars move above them. She knew the stars weren’t supposed to be moving, but she was surprised to find that she didn’t mind. She felt untouchable in this moment, next to the man she thought she might have loved; it seemed impossible that anything bad could happen to them after they’d already suffered so much.  
She felt more like a girl than a queen-at least, she would until she came back to her senses. 

She was surprised when Jon stood up and then knelt down in front of her, fumbling in the folds of his cloak until he’d closed something in his palm-when he looked up at her, his eyes were clear and bright, reflecting the stars in their depths. “It just occurred to me...I know it’s not much, but it feels only right that I give this to you now.” He pressed whatever had been in his palm into hers-a direwolf pin, crafted of exquisite silver with detailing showing fur rippling in an unseen wind as it leapt for the kill. “Will you marry me, Daenerys Targaryen?”

For a moment, all she could do was stare at the direwolf with plain awe-and then she stood up, pulling him to his feet as she did so (as best she could, that is). “You’re going to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms-you bow to no one. But…” There was a lump in her throat and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t supposed to be like this-a question, an answer, a motivation more than something political. But they weren’t exactly a traditional couple. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” She held the pin tenderly, feeling its edges bite into her palm-and then handed it back to him. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

He fastened it just below her collar and it hung there reflecting the light of the moon back at them. It felt like a promise between the two of them; a promise to try as hard as they could to preserve something so pure, so organic, that it didn’t seem possible that it could exist in a world where children were thought of as less because their parents hadn’t been married first or girls barely flowered were sold off into marriages to men twice their age (or more). 

For a second, she felt more frightened than she had on the field half a league from Winterfell, where she’d saw the army of the dead coming towards them and realized they were hopelessly outnumbered-and then her fear slowly faded away. “Your parents married for love.”

“And look where that got them-both dead, the realm in turmoil, a new king on the throne.” 

“We’ll be different.” Suddenly all she could feel was conviction-conviction that they would do better. “Our love story will have a happy ending.” 

He kissed her, soft and sweet, his lips still tasting of mulled wine. “The singers don’t write songs about the happy love stories.”  
“I don’t need singers.” And in that moment, she realized that it was true-she had everything she needed; she didn't need to be immortalized in a ballad. 

They stayed outside until the sky above Rhaenys’ Hill had turned to a charcoal grey and Arya came outside to find them, wondering what on Earth could possibly be taking them so long.


End file.
